


Fray

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Upheave [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker (2019)
Genre: Dildos, F/F, Female Armitage Hux, Female Kylo Ren, Manipulation, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Predicament Bondage, Submissive Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: Hux clucks her tongue and catches Kylo’s ankle, guiding it against resistance to its make-shift platform. “Supreme Leader, you know that no is not enough, even asked so very nicely.” She makes a low, approving sound when Kylo touches the cool, smooth surface. “Always such a good girl in the end, Kylo.”
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Series: Upheave [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896583
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Fray

**Author's Note:**

> I claim no knowledge of human ability to stand completely on one's tip toes, my frame of reference is that scene in Titanic. My ballet experience extends to doing the bunny hop-hop and wearing truly fashionable leotards with belts.

Kylo is exhausted. 

She is bone-tired in a way that she only ever recalls from her most strenuous training under Snoke -- when she was young and easily persuaded to push herself past reasonable limits for nothing more than the pleasure of her master. She feels like hours have gone by but she really can’t be sure. She’s concentrating too hard on keeping herself upright and on the ever-increasing pain in her calves from her muscles locking up.

If she could unclench her teeth, she might laugh. Thank the stars for her mother’s ill-fated attempts to find ways to expend and focus her energy -- dancing and gymnastics and even aerial silks during her short lived exile on Gatalenta sometime in the hazy period before the sham (and shame) of her symbolic Day of Demand. Kylo may never have aspired to the elegant sports but she remembered the way _perfect feet_ should feel. 

It is the only thing saving her from Hux’s cruel machinations now.

Kylo’s arms are heavy. She’s glad for the support she’s been given: A sturdy bar across her shoulders and cuffs locked so sweetly around her wrists, secured to a point so very far above her head. But, if she relaxes for a moment, she swings. With her tether so high, the movement is hard to stop. It makes everything else more trying.

She’d been so _stupid_ about it and hadn’t realized just how much until it was too late. Hux would leave her there a while, she’d reasoned. Hux was always inventing new ways to isolate Kylo with her thoughts when she wasn’t actively torturing the Supreme Leader’s body in every way she knew how. Kylo had reasoned she’d take advantage of the time. She could work over all that her informants had talked her through in the last few weeks with no distractions. Hux didn’t often converse with her when they played this way, no one could come and interrupt her with the troubles of the galaxy under her command. What Hux asked of her wasn’t difficult: stand still, don’t complain.

Kylo’s legs tremble and the connecting rings for the cuffs rattle. Her stance wavers and she clenches her stomach so tightly she fears she might make herself ill. For all of her efforts she’s punished -- the sound punched out of her by the thing between her legs echoes in the mostly empty room.

“Supreme Leader,” Hux says softly from somewhere behind. “I think it might be time to come down.”

Kylo thinks she could weep with relief. “Thank you, _thank you_ \-- please, yes.”

Hux’s laugh is low and dark. “You’ve misunderstood.” She takes a knee behind Kylo, pushing her shoulder against Kylo’s legs to give her some small modicum of rest. “Lift this foot.”

“Hux, please.”

“Mm?” 

The stinging pain of a sharp slap against Kylo’s thigh makes her comply, however involuntarily. She lifts her foot to escape the sting and wavers on the one still planted. She gasps hard enough that it hurts her chest, her body shocked by the sudden movement after such careful control for so long.

“Chancellor,” she gulps, and lets Hux support her weight, pressing her legs back into Hux’s shoulder.

Under each of Kylo’s feet are a stack of old ammunition tins. The old cases for the outmoded plasma magazines are particularly useful in this game, the shells designed to fit together in a neat, stable stack. When Kylo’s foot is lifted, Hux removes the tin on the top of the stack. Kylo’s predicament becomes much more difficult all at once. Hux is kind enough to give her a moment to rebalance herself before she demands Kylo lift her other foot as well. Kylo stretches her leg as far as she can, going as high on her toes as she dares, like a dancer trapped in a box.

“Please, Hux, _please_ \-- _please, no_.”

Hux clucks her tongue and catches Kylo’s ankle, guiding it against resistance to its make-shift platform. “Supreme Leader, you know that _no_ is not enough, even asked so very nicely.” She makes a low, approving sound when Kylo touches the cool, smooth surface. “Always such a good girl in the end, Kylo.”

This has been the mechanism of her plight: slow, near-excruciating impalement.

The tripod she is standing over has been adhered to the floor and it’s device fitting modified to hold the base of a thick, glass object.

Kylo flexes her shoulders, lifting herself just fractions enough to balance completely on her toes. Somewhere in the depths of her memory she can hear a stern voice warning her about sickled feet. She looks down at herself and Hux is still kneeling there, shifted in front. Hux strokes her calves and her thighs with feather-light fingers, tracing the durasteel bundle bulge of her long muscles. 

The tremor begins in Kylo’s thighs and crawls up through her belly, clenched so tight, and settles in her arms. The cuffs in their fittings rattle. Hux looks up at her, mock concern painted across her brow. “Supreme Leader, you shouldn’t tax yourself so much. It would be much easier to stand on flat feet.”

Kylo gulps and closes her eyes. Hux is right, obviously. She’s designed this predicament. Of course she’s right. And it’s not unreasonable, it’s perfectly _logical_. Lowering herself, even simply onto the balls of her feet, would be much less stressful. She might relax her arms and her abdomen, allow the bar and the line to the ceiling take more of her weight…

The issue is the thing between her legs, inside of her. There’s room, yes. It’s not too tall, mounted from the floor as it is. If Kylo settled more comfortably on her feet the base of the thing would sit snug against her body. It wouldn’t press too far inside, it’s not functionally longer than anything else she’s been filled with. The problem is the shape. The _girth_.

It was easier several lost ammunition cases ago; nice and tapered near the top, _present_ but hardly a challenge. She’d been bold, fucking herself down onto it with little jerky dips of her hips just to taunt Hux. Her smug confidence had been shattered quite quickly, feeling each extra millimeter as Hux took the cases away from beneath her feet and the taper of the glass toy widened, testing the limits of her body and her tolerance for the persistent stretch in her cunt.

There is a moment, just a breath -- a heartbeat -- a shot of electricity rushing from her brain to her spine -- just before Kylo lowers herself from her aching toes, that she thinks she won’t be able to tolerate it. She’s stretched so very open. Her nerves are frayed. Her skin feels too hot. The wide expanse of the bare room is suddenly very small. 

In an instant, there’s _relief_.

Kylo is _full._ She can feel the rhythm her heart is hammering out in her cunt. But the stretch is easier now, past the widest part. Her body clutches at the thick stem of the toy and the base of it presses persistently against her sensitive lips. Kylo moans and it echoes through her chest and her belly and bounces off the hard walls all around her.

Hux presses her face against Kylo’s hip. Her breath is hot against Kylo’s skin, tickling through the unkempt hair of her mons. “Such a good girl,” Hux mumbles and Kylo’s head spins with it.

****

Kylo returns to her suite by sheer force of will, perhaps a little bit of the Force as well. She refuses Hux’s assistance. She won’t be seen hobbling through the corridors with her arm around her Chancellor’s shoulders.

Kylo stalks through the halls, keeping close to the walls and dragging her bare feet. Servants and troopers in casual uniforms alike press themselves out of her way. They bow their heads and pretend not to notice her disheveled condition -- the tangled cloud of her hair or the long triangle of sweat stretching from beneath her breasts to the waistband of her leggings that’s turned her soft grey training clothes black. They’ll assume that she’s been at a strenuous session with her Knights.

The Knights aren’t in occupation at the moment.

But they’ll assume it or they’ll find it hard to breathe.

“TC-13,” Kylo growls when she sees the flash of chrome scurrying past up ahead.

“Oh, yes Supreme Leader! How may I assist you?” The protocol droid stops and turns toward Kylo, ready to receive instruction. The TC series droids here at the estate are much more useful than the gold bucket of spare parts that plagued the first decades of her life.

“Find SN-D4, I require her services.”

“My Lady, I believe the spa droid is in maintenance servicing the security droids.”

“They can wait, I can’t. Bring her to me at once.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kylo finally reaches her private chambers and slaps her hand against the access pad. It struggles for a moment, trying to read her half-smeared handprint, before it beeps and the door _swishes_ open. She flops onto the bed, near tears for the pain in her limbs. It’s her own fault, really, she should have just relaxed. She’d let herself be intimidated, overwhelmed -- _by a hunk of sculpted glass_. She feels used and empty, hollowed out with a rusty spoon. She peels her clothes off in awkward, lurching movements there on the bed and waits.

SN-D4 strides smoothly into the room with soft apologies on her steel lips. She’d had to stop for maintenance cleaning herself before she came up to attend the Supreme Leader, several of the security droids had needed oil baths and deep circuit de-gumming. The spa droid is unique among those like her. She’s been retrofitted for human service, several layers of mods applied to her specialty programming. Kylo’s grateful for whoever did it -- probably the same one of the ousted former residents of Kylo’s governing seat who used the room she spends so much time in with it’s perfectly level floors and high-polished mirrors. She can imagine them being stretched and massaged by SN-D4’s expert hands after hours of practice.

“Oh _my_ ,” the droid exclaims when she finally has Kylo flat on her stomach. “Have you been extensively injured recently? My sensors are detecting severe inflammation in most major muscle groups.”

Kylo bites back a shriek when the droid prods her tender, stiff calf. “It’s just a charley horse.”

SN-D4 manages to sound very smug when she says, “A herd of them by my estimation, ma’am.”

The droid is gone and Kylo is breathless and wrung out when Hux comes. She throws herself down on the chaise in front of the wide balcony doors. She looks wreathed in flame with the sunset against her coppery hair.

Kylo wishes for a moment that Hux really was burning.

“We’ve had a bit of a set back.” The irritation in Hux’s tone is carefully controlled. She leans over the side of the chaise and yanks the decanter of brown liquor off of the pretty tiled table there. She hesitates, her hand hovering near the dusty glass beside it before she pulls the stopper and drinks right from the source.

“What kind of set back?”

“This is important, Kylo, aren’t you going to sit up?”

“No.” 

The crackle of anger around Hux is satisfying. She doesn’t like to be contradicted. “Our new fighters were shot down over Geonosis.”

Kylo does sit up for that. “That’s more than a _bit of a set back_.”

Hux waves it off and takes another mouthful from the decanter. “They’re just fighters. We were running a remote operation, the pilots are safe. We can build more.”

“Those fighters cost us millions of credits, _Chancellor_. Millions that you had me move away from Pryde’s division -- one that was making real progress against the rebels.”

Hux puts the decanter down on the floor with a _clack_ and Kylo is surprised when it doesn’t shatter. “What are a million credits when control of the galaxy is within our reach?”

“ _My_ reach.”

Hux purses her lips and then lets them spread into a visibly wavering smile. “Of course, Supreme Leader. Your reach.” Her cheeks bloom with color.

Kylo suppresses a groan and shifts to the edge of the mattress. She has a scheduled com with her contact on Arkanis. She needs Hux out of the room.

“I would think, Chancellor, that being raised in a position in which you’re little more than a consequence of the gathering of powers -- in which you might have fallen out of favor at any moment, just a card to be played, and cast out live on scraps…” Kylo takes a deep breath, considering her word choice, watching Hux’s face color and pale and her nostrils flare. “That it would have taught you something.”

Hux stands so suddenly that Kylo can feel the disturbance in the air from across the room. “Of course, Supreme Leader.” 

Her chest heaves and Kylo’s stomach twists. It’s a calculated risk to anger Hux. Kylo can’t deny the influence she has within the Order -- Hux was raised by the Order, Kylo will always be an outsider. 

“I will be more mindful of speaking so flippantly. You’re right.” Hux strides across the room and for one brief moment Kylo thinks her calculation must have been severely off. Hux leans in and gently moves Kylo’s hair behind her ear. Her breath smells as if she’s had more than just a few gulps from the decanter. “I will be in my quarters for the rest of the night. Please, Supreme Leader, do not hesitate to call on me if you have need of me.”

After a pause Hux straightens up and turns on her heel. Kylo watches her go with her ram-rod spine and steady, even pace. The door _swishes_ shut behind her and it seems much more forceful for all the crackling, electric anger around Hux. 

Kylo lets out a breath, emptying herself so that her gut and chest aches in harmony with the sense memory of her used cunt. She rests her face in her hands. _Who’s the good girl?_ she thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> I love love comments tysm.
> 
> [Find me here.](https://t.co/jN0e9F32gO?amp=1)


End file.
